What the fuck was worse than fingering a married woman?
“No way. There’s no chance I could—”
“I’m Kaitlyn Leary.”
That cut off my words. My breath. Stilled my heart. I stared at her, then stared some more, trying to remember her from fifteen years earlier. She was Kaitlyn Leary.
“Holy fuck,” I muttered. My hands clenched into fists and everything I felt from that time surged right back to the surface. This was Don Leary’s daughter.
“You’re right, I hate you.” The words were easy and they slipped from my lips because right then, all I felt was hatred.
She flinched, as if I’d hit her with my fists instead of my words. I might be losing my shit, but I’d never raise my hand to a woman.
“I understand,” she replied, her voice calm, as if she were resigned. “Last night, I didn’t mean to… I wouldn’t have… if I’d known.”
“Your drunk father hit my parents and drove off, leaving them to suffer.”
She lifted her chin, met my eyes. Held. “I know.”
“He spent seven years in jail. Just seven. Then he got out and got to live his life again with my parents ac
ross town.”
“I know.”
“He was a drunk,” I gritted out through clenched teeth. “An asshole. Scum.”
She took a deep breath but didn’t shift her eyes from mine. “I know.”
“Do you have any idea what he did to my family? What he did to me?” When I got pissed, my voice went all quiet. Full of steel. “It was a week before my seventeenth birthday.”
“I know,” she said, again. “I knew your parents had recovered. I saw them at the trial. My aunt had kept me up to date on how they were doing. I’m so glad they’re better.”
“Like you give a shit.” I wiped the back of my hand over my mouth as I stepped back, heard the porch creak under my feet, pointed at her. “Stay the fuck away from Cassidy’s. The fuck away from my family. From me.”
“I understand. I’m sorry.” She nodded, looked down at the scuffed wood floor just inside the entry, then stepped back and closed the door.
Jesus. Could I pick ‘em. I walked back to the truck, kicking a loose bit of concrete from the walkway and sent it flying into the patchy grass. The only woman I’d been into in years and she was fucking Don Leary’s daughter.
8
KAITLYN
I made it through my shift at the library trying not to think of Landon and our confrontation. It had gone as I’d expected. Well, not really. I hadn’t expected him to show up on my doorstep. God, had that been a surprise. I hadn’t expected him to kiss me. I hadn’t expected it to be so hard to push him away. But I had and after what he’d said, I was glad for it.
Oh, I’d wanted to sink into it, into his arms, into the protective nature he’d shown when I’d first opened the door. He’d been worried about me, thinking I’d been sick even. He’d wanted me. He’d wanted… more with me and with a crazy desperation that made my heart ache even more. But that had been before. Before the truth. Before he knew it was all my fault his parents had been hurt so badly, that the Duke family had been almost destroyed. And that made the rest of it even worse.
He hated me. I’d known he would and I’d expected it. Even so, it hurt. A lot. It brought it all back up again, every little thing I remembered and felt from when I was ten. It had been fifteen years, and yet it was still so fresh. I’d tried for years to tamp it down, to block it off like a brick wall around the mess that had been my childhood, but with one dark look, one kiss, one orgasm, Landon had taken a wrecking ball to it. Add Jed and his finger-induced orgasm to the mix doubled the destruction. Hot men squared.
And now the wound was open again. Bleeding. Hurting.
But it was mine to deal with. Mine to carry. Ava had texted twice and left messages, but I’d ignored them, not prepared to talk about it.
Sure, I’d had a little cry before I left the house, but I’d had to suck it up and get to work. With a story hour for preschoolers on the schedule, the morning had gone quickly, but the incident wasn’t far from my mind, especially when I drove the twenty miles out to the highway and my second job at the hotel. At least I’d be there only for a few hours, doubling up on the front desk for the Friday afternoon registration rush. Then I could go home, climb in bed and toss the covers over my head. Forget the outside world, at least until the morning when I had to do it all over again. Work. Work some more. Sleep. That wouldn’t change.
Two great guys had been temporary. Very temporary. The damaged roof was going to be a little less temporary. I’d have to call another contractor, get a quote. In the meantime, I’d stop at the hardware store, buy a cheap tarp, pull out the rickety ladder and cover the damaged section. I had to hope it didn’t rain too much. But, because of the delay in the repair, I’d hopefully have a little extra money saved up by the time they did get to the project and maybe they could fix a slightly bigger section.
In the hotel’s parking lot, I removed the library nametag and grabbed the other one from the armrest compartment, pinned it in place. Working was good. Working kept me distracted, in front of people where I had to smile, be positive. It kept me busy, made me be thankful for what I did have. Right?